


The Days After

by ayyzahurr



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:41:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6093433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayyzahurr/pseuds/ayyzahurr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We fought. We lost. We failed. We suffered. And we may never be alright. </p><p>Set after the events of the Battle of Beacon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Days After

**Author's Note:**

> Each Day is told from the point of view from a different girl.
> 
> (White Rose and Bumblebee Sugar Fluff, now with sad)

**Day 1**

I can feel us moving. Are we on an airship? I guess so. But… there was something that stopped us from using ships, right? Some reason we couldn’t fly... Or… something like that. I can't quite remember. Why… why can't I remember?

I can hear voices. They sound… urgent. Hurried. They're speaking too quickly for me to decipher what they're saying. But their tone is enough reason for worry. Are we being attacked? Did the humans find us? Where were our patrols? Our scouts? We'd been laying low for awhile now, why can't they just leave us alone?

I try to get up, but for some reason I can't. My arms… they're like lead. I try and open my eyes, but the world is blurry, and I can't make out anything. I get the feeling of lights passing overhead rapidly, and I practically _taste_ the fumes of… of _something_ in the air. My stomach… my stomach burns. It is a white screaming pain, demanding, wrenching my full attention. The feeling is hollow and sharp and harsh and numb all at the same time. My throat is dry, and a thick film of sweat, dirt and blood covers me from top to toe. The stench of blood and Dust fills the air. Every fibre of my being is screaming at me to get up and fight, to grab Gambol Shroud or whatever it is I have on hand to survive, but my body refuses to respond.

I slow my breathing and try to remember what the hell happened to me. Was it one of the new recruits? Did they accidentally cause a Dust misfire? Maybe… maybe I was out on patrol, and the humans ambushed us. But I wasn't scheduled for any patrols… A combat exercise, maybe? Maybe we were trying something and Yang went too hard or-

Wait.

Who is Yang?

* * *

**Day 5**

It's been five days since the massacre. I don't even know what to call it anymore. The tragedy. The incident. All those horrible things, all those people, all those lives, neatly packaged into one simple word.

The very idea of this disgusts me.

Ruby had since been moved to a simple makeshift unit. They didn't find anything wrong with her, but they didn't know why she wouldn't wake up. They had to make room for the others; those they _could_ help, or at the very least, help in their passing. I did not want Ruby not getting the care she needed, but I could not bring myself to say no.  Am I a coward? Should I have fought for her more? What would Ruby have done?

The other two… they had been only recently been moved from whatever they managed to scrape together and called “intensive”,  but they were still under heavy monitoring, and the scrambled, overworked and over exhausted staff wouldn't let me see them. They wouldn't tell me why, but I'd catch little snippets of “emotional trauma” or “mental shock” before they'd notice me and look away, with troubled, maybe even guilty looks on their faces. I try not to dwell on it too much, but with all that has happened, how can I not?

Because of the plight, nearby Huntsmen swarmed the kingdom, eager to lend their aid. With most of the senior students available on hand, they sent the juniors away, to what they called “the safety of their homes”. Many refused, for a multitude of reasons. Some carried with them a personal vendetta. Some were waiting, always waiting, maybe even in vain, that their friends would come back, to somehow return from the smoldering wreckage, alive, safe and sound.

Most… most were just too scared to leave.

I spend most of my free time in Ruby's unit, sitting next to her bed, watching, waiting. It is oddly unnerving, watching that little red bundle of joy so still, so quiet. I can barely make out her breathing, and I sometimes have to lean in close to check if she's still alive.

Sometimes, I tell her stories, fairytales, the ones that she likes. Sometimes, I'll sing for her, old lullabies, or even wordless, meaningless melodies from an abandoned childhood. Sometimes I'll just hold her hand, and plead for a forgiveness that I don't know will ever come.

If I can, I stay there the whole day. The night shift sometimes wake me up when they check in on her, me having at some point fallen asleep next to Ruby. Recently, they started bringing me some little odd bits that could still qualify as food when they came in. I don't think that's normal hospital practice, but I don't suppose this is a normal hospital.

I used to hide my face whenever the staff came round. Now, they bring me extra tissues with the sparse meals.

I take Ruby’s hand, and grasp it tightly. It is limp in my hand, but the slight body heat tells me she's alive. She was always warm, in body, and in spirit. Her eyes, always so bright and eager, had been closed for only a few days, but already I could feel myself forgetting things about her. Were they grey? Silver? Were they a different colour completely? How did she sound like? Did she have any quirks in her voice? The thought that I would never hear her voice again terrifies me. The fact I was already losing my _memory_ of her frightens me. I should have protected her.

I squeeze her hand, praying again, again and again that one day, she'll squeeze back. An odd thing to wish isn't it? For something so simple. So mundane. But I am so desperate for something, anything, to show that Ruby was coming back to me. That we'll be able to live together and annoy each other far beyond the events of that terrible day. That I'll see her smile again, that I'll hear her laugh again. That I'll feel her touch again, that I'll feel her warmth again.

I should _never_ have sent her up that godforsaken tower.

* * *

**Day 19**

I am pathetic.

I let my guard down, fueled - no, _blinded_ by emotion, and that destroyed me.

The nurses say that I've been here awhile; for too long, it feels. Instead of being out there, fighting, doing my part, _earning_ my place, I'm confined to this stupid bed, spending my days staring at the same old goddamn scenery day in, day out.

I asked about the others, but nobody will tell me anything. They always look wary, like I am about to break into hysterics.

The staff say that while I was here I was completely out for the count, but the others in this place - I guess you could call it a ward - they said that I wasn’t. They said that I was… saying things. Doing things. They looked like they wanted to tell me what I said, what I did, but were scared to.

Why won’t they say anything? Why did the staff try to hide it?

I have nightmares. Grimm, always Grimm. The red eyes. The black flesh. The white masks. Always, they come, always, they win. Yet, that is not what makes the nightmare. She… _she_ is always there. Always screaming, begging. Her voice rang clearer than any Grimm, piercing the air with her pleas. Always, I fight, desperate, desperate, desperate to save her, to reach her, to protect her. Always, always, always, I fail.

Always, they take her away from me.

If I was only stronger, maybe, maybe, maybe, just maybe...

My weapons… they lie next to my bed. They look discarded, useless, little more than trash. To look at them as they are now is nothing less than heartbreaking. They were not only my weapons, but my creations; my vengeful spirit made whole, my crowning glory. Handcrafted from scratch, created and reiterated, again and again to be the perfect form they are now. They were designed to be exact mirror copies of each other, and yet in reality, they were not. Each half had its own quirks, its own nuances, its weight, its feel, and with each day of training every little difference, every little detail would be ingrained in my heart.

They are not two pieces, but one unit, to be _used_ as one. She used to be part of me. She used to _be_ me. My body sang when I wore her, freedom soaring through my veins. She made me complete. I was invincible. I was indomitable. I was a Huntress. But now...

Ember Celica was just as alien to me as everyone else.

* * *

**Day ?**

I cannot see. The world is dark.

I cannot hear. All is silent.

But yet, I see, and yet, I hear.

Everyday, she comes. Sometimes, she speaks. The words, I cannot understand. But they make me see. I see the worlds she creates. Of heroes and monsters and villains. Of myth, of valour.

Sometimes she sings. Songs I have heard always. Songs I have long forgotten. Songs I hear for the first time.

Sometimes, she is still. I feel her body next to mine. Her body is warm… but her heart is heavy.

I hear her cry. Why do you cry? I am here with you. Do not cry. It is alright.

When she is here, I feel light. Like a feather, floating through endlessness.

A man comes. They do not like each other. I hear anger, frustration. He leaves.

The songs have stopped. She doesn’t come.

Nobody comes.

She is not here.

Why is she not here?

I remember.

I see them. I hear them.

They took them from me.

I remember Innocence, her heart, once so pure, now her eyes, turned to glass.

I remember Unity, her heart, once so kind, now her soul, turned to ash.

Bring them back to me.

Bring her back to me.

I cannot lose her too.

 

I cannot see.

I cannot hear.

But yet, I see, and yet, I hear.

**Author's Note:**

> I was sad. So I wrote this.
> 
> To clarify, the girls in order were Blake, Weiss, Yang and Ruby. 
> 
> I miss Penny. I miss Pyrrha. I miss Monty.
> 
> Disclaimer: RWBY is the property of Rooster Teeth, and the creation of Monty Oum.


End file.
